


Fell In Love In London

by Poisonjaffas



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, soft chats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poisonjaffas/pseuds/Poisonjaffas
Summary: I wrote this about a year ago and never got around to posting it, so I hope you enjoy this even if it is a little belated.Title taken from the Starbenders track of the same name.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Fell In Love In London

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago and never got around to posting it, so I hope you enjoy this even if it is a little belated.  
> Title taken from the Starbenders track of the same name.

Crowley was aware, vaguely, that as much as he hadn't been like the other angels in his brief time in Heaven, he was equally an outsider in Hell. Catholics had their ideas about Limbo, but as far as his experience went, the true place in-between the two was Earth, which was probably why it was the only place he'd ever felt he belonged in 6,000 years.

If he was being honest with himself, and he rarely was (honesty was a dangerous path for a Demon to tread), Crowley's sense of belonging had more to do with the company he kept on Earth. No, not the passing humans he stooped to terrify, with their fleeting lifespans and weird ideas about how to spend them. He supposed, if you happened to spend the last six millenniums bumping into the only other celestial being who enjoyed the Earth in the way you did, then eventually you were bound to be somewhat fond of them. Unfortunately, this was not at all what had happened, as Crowley was rather a hopeless romantic on the quiet, and had instead fallen head over heels for the angel the first time they'd met.

He had, at first, hoped that the fuzzy feeling in his chest that made him want to do something very un-demon-like, such as hold the angel's hand, would go away with time. More than enough time had passed for generations and generations of humans to fall in love, get married, fall out of love, get divorced, and maybe even get married again, and still just the angel's name brought a smile to his lips. Aziraphale. Crowley could feel the corner of his mouth quirk upwards almost involuntarily, and then realised he probably looked a bit insane to any passers by who saw him sat alone on their bench in St James Park. In reality, he really needn't have worried, as the government agents sat on the next bench along were quite engrossed in the international affairs they were discussing. The ducks, however, were judging him, as they are judgmental creatures, and he had made the fatal error of not bringing them any seeds that day.

Crowley was waiting for his angel (not that he'd ever call him that to his face, obviously), and he was late. It was a warm summer day, sun beaming down from the heavens, and the reptilian part of Crowley was making the most of the warmth whilst it lasted. If he had any sense, he would have settled somewhere with a warmer climate than London, but Aziraphale had bought his bookshop there, and it had seemed easier, for the sake of their work sharing agreement, or something like that, to live there as well. Crowley was startled out of his blissful state by Aziraphale unceremoniously throwing himself onto the bench next to him.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, my dear. I got completely lost in a new book..." Aziraphale trailed off, looking flustered. 

"'S okay," Crowley mumbled, blinking sleepily behind his sunglasses. Even if he'd spent most of the last few thousand years inhabiting his human corporeal form, the snake instinct to find somewhere warm and sleep was sometimes surprisingly strong.

Aziraphale smiled knowingly at his dozy companion.

"Been enjoying the sun, have you?"

Crowley nodded, smiling lazily as he stretched his arms out in front of him.

"I always did wonder why you didn't move somewhere closer to the equator. You're made for the sun," the angel mused, admiring the way the sun's rays made Crowley's red hair look as if it were glowing. In his admiration, he missed the way the demon's face dropped as he looked out at the ducks, who were definitely disappointed that the angel hadn't brought them any food either, as normally they could rely on him to have something for them.

"Well, you know, I, uh..."

Crowley paused to think about the best thing to say. If he were feeling reckless, he might have told Aziraphale that he'd chosen to sacrifice his sunbathing for the warmth of constant proximity to him, and maybe the angel would have blushed and held his hand, understanding the unspoken sentiment behind the words. This was something Crowley would ponder over extensively later that night, but in the present, he spoke.

"It's just that I was so pleased with what I'd done with the M25 that it seemed rather a shame to not stick around to watch the chaos unfurl,"

"Ah, yes, of course," Aziraphale nodded sincerely.

"Go on then, what made you pick London?" Crowley asked, resting his arm across the back of the bench so he could lounge more comfortably.

Aziraphale reddened, although whether it was at the train of thought the prompted by Crowley's question or the fact that Crowley's arm was just touching his shoulders, was debatable.

"You'll laugh at me,"

"Was it Oscar Wilde? Did you buy a house and fill it with books to impress him, hoping he'd take the hint and move in, or something?" Crowley's words come out joking, but there was a certain hint of jealousy underneath.

"Of course not!" Aziraphale cried indignantly. He'd always rather enjoyed Oscar's company, and he'd helped introduce the angel to a whole new side of London that he'd never really known existed, or been brave enough to explore. "You know it was never like that with him,"

Crowley did know, but that didn't stop him from wondering, occasionally, if the Wilde bloke had taken a shining to his angel. He tried not to think about these things too much, as that way lay insanity, if he pondered 6,000 years of potential beaus. 

"Tell me then, angel,"

"Well, you know that little old family bakery that does those gorgeous pear tarts?"

"Yeah,"

Aziraphale waved his hand in a gesture that said, "well, there you go" and Crowley couldn't help but burst out laughing. His angel certainly liked his food, and Crowley loved him for it. One of the constants over the many years had been them meeting up for food together, no matter where on the globe they were, or what was going on around them. If those modern food bloggers, with the awful stories Crowley encouraged them to write about how their brownie recipe was inspired by their grandparents’ divorce, could get hold of only a tiny percentage of Aziraphale's knowledge on the best places to eat in any city, they'd be made for life.

"You've been here for the last 200 years because of a pear tart?!" The words were laced with genuine laughter, and the angel couldn't fight the smile creeping onto his own face.

"I told you you'd laugh!" He said, dissolving into giggles himself. "I suppose it might be silly, but I do rather like it here,"

Crowley turned to his side to see Aziraphale looking at him contentedly.

"Yeah, I suppose it's not too bad at all."

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at my Tumblr [PoisonJaffas](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poisonjaffas)


End file.
